


The Visit

by ellamequiere



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamequiere/pseuds/ellamequiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Just after the Franco-Prussian War and German Unification, Germany pays a visit to France. (Genderswap, femslash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visit

It was mid-morning and sunny when Germany arrived at the large manner house. The buttery yellow light lit the gaudy trim on the front door, the unnecessarily intricate glass work of the picture window, softening them. Germany knocked. A small, trim woman in the clothes of a domestic answered; one of the sugar islands, she imagined. The woman waited just a beat, eyes expressing her disapproval, before she said “I'll get the Lady, then.” Germany thanked her, and stood, woodenly, in the foyer.

It was nearly ten minutes before she heard the soft footsteps on the stairs. France, every inch a fashionable Parisian women in both dress and comportment, walked with tiny, delicate steps; the modern dress contrasted strangely with the delicate, extravagant furniture, the carpets, so very _Ancien Regime_. “You again?” The voice was soft, mildly accented; an affectation, since none of them had an accent in the universal language they used with each other. It was what she'd always said, and Germany closed her eyes briefly, the relief thick in her throat.

Germany made a stiff bow, looking at the floor. “Me again,” she agreed, as always. She adjusted the collar of her uniform, feeling crude, loutish, as she always did in France's delicately appointed home.

“Then I suppose you'd better come up.” The other woman said it like there was no alternative, like she was being coerced. Germany forced a smile, and followed her upstairs to the small sitting room, exquisitely careful to touch nothing. They sat on opposite sides of a small, elaborate table, and France rang a little bell. Silent, well-dressed women appeared, bearing a tea service, more expensive than Germany's best rifle. They were served in silence. Germany looked over France's left shoulder, at the painting behind her; a soft, dreamy landscape.

“You've been well, I hope,” Germany said quietly, the rhythm of the conversation a worn and comfortable path.

“I've been better,” the France responded. She said nothing about Prussia. She didn't need to.

“Is that so,” Germany responded softly, sipping her tea.

“Mm,” France assented. “And you? You're still in one piece, I see.”

“I'm still in one piece,” she agreed. She wanted to say more, but something stopped her from speaking. 

They would be quiet now, for a few moments, until the tea was gone. Then, and only then, they would make their way to her bedroom. Germany looked down at her cup, swirling the liquid gently. She knew this game.

But here, France broke the pattern. She tilted her head to the side, leaning her cheek on a delicate hand, twirling a little lock of hair around a finger. “Tell me something, Germany,” she said. Germany felt a strange thrill run up her spine at the sound of her new name on those lips. “Why is it that you never look at me before we go to bed?”

Germany dragged her eyes away from the blurry, strange trees, the delicate women with suggested parasols. Over France's shoulder, up her graceful neck, to the strands of hair resting against her cheek. Heart in her mouth, she swallowed. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

France leaned across the table, tucking a piece of hair behind Germany's ear. At the brush of fingertips on her cheek, her heart stopped. “Even now,” she murmured, “you can't meet my eyes. I wonder why that is?”

Germany forced herself to cross those last few centimeters, to let their eyes meet. A shock ran from the bottom of her throat, turning into a pulse that ended between her legs. She said nothing.

France sighed, and crossed the distance between them, brushing her lips across Germany's forehead. Germany shuddered. “You're in love with me,” she told her, softly. Germany didn't look away. “I don't love you, you know,” she said, conversationally.

“I know,” Germany told her, dipping her head once.

France laughed, a small laugh that said that there wasn't anything funny at all. “You have no self-respect at all, do you. Fine then. Leave the tea.” She stood, gesturing, and Germany copied her obediently. Her heart was in her mouth all the way to the bedroom.

The hours passed like liquid honey, sweet and slow and torturous. Germany burned them into her memory, the angle of France's arched neck, the shadow of her eyelashes against her cheek in the golden light from the window, the low, sweet sounds she made as she came, clenching around Germany's fingers. When the sun had set, she sat up, looking at the other woman for a long moment. Quickly, deftly, she kissed her fingertips, and gathered her clothes. She didn't look back on her way out the door; she didn't want to see France's eyes on her, distant, calculating.

  


  



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